


Don't Push Him

by hellosorry



Series: Harley Keener and Peter Parker rule the multiverse [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dysphoria, I'm sorry there are so little tags I have to go I'll add some more tomorrow, M/M, New York City, Peter is Spider-Man, Peter runs away, Tony makes a mistake, anywho, bc mistakes are a thing, is it bad that i forgot the name of my own fic?, may be back with more, mostly - Freeform, okay okay so i got to reread this now 'cause i forget all that happened, probably, probably not though 'cause i didnt ACTUALLY reread it, surprise guys i didnt add some tomorrow but im back now, thats all I got, tony pushes Peter too far, trans!peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosorry/pseuds/hellosorry
Summary: Peter is transgender and hasn't told Tony. Tony pushes him a little bit too far on a bad day, and it all kind of comes spilling out. Except it's forced. And Peter didn't want Tony to know.





	Don't Push Him

He was standing in the rain in his Chewbacca socks and all he could think about was how this was a bad idea. But it was raining in his city and people couldn’t find out about who or what or why he was even a was, so he jumped out his window and went to set fire to the world.

Except not literally. He just meant it in the form of, like, changing the world or some crap like that. You know. Superhero stuff.

He did jump out his window literally, though. That was pretty epic, what with him being in his Spider-Man suit and all. He always felt epic in his Spider-Man suit. Even more so in his Chewbacca socks.

It was like the whole of the science fiction universe had his back, and he loved it.

He was Spider-Man, he was a  _he_ , and he was invincible.

A piercing shriek fractured through the little glass droplets of wet, and, well. It sent a fierce shiver through his spine, and maybe he wasn’t invincible.

That was okay, though. Superheroes didn’t have to be invincible, they just had to be  _there_. There for people.

He swung through air like no creature ever before seen (except for maybe Ralph in the fifth season of the Flash. Good show, except for the lack of chemistry between Iris and Barry. Honestly, the only reason he watched it anymore was for Killer Frost. She was  _cool_. Pun not intended), reaching his destination in a flash.

That pun  _was_  intended. Even though it wasn’t a good one.

“Didn’t you hear? You’re supposed to keep knives in  _last_  season’s closet.  _Guns_ are what’s in  _this_  season.”

Should he be saying things that might encourage criminals and give them ideas? Probably not. Did he care? Not really. It’d give him a job to do, and he’d probably regret it if someone ended up getting hurt or something, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Peter.

Today’s Peter was honestly just done at this point, because that’s what five panic attacks in a row can do to a person (Spider? Spider-person. Heck).

This was why he failed that last grammar quiz, guys. THIS WAS WHY.

A girl, being mugged by what looked to be maybe a college kid with some pretty rocking dreads. Pretty typical set-up, except the bad guy (excuse him, girl. He was pretty sure. They had some curves, but he shouldn’t assume.) in question had better hair than most. Maybe their mom was a hairdresser?

He took them out with a quick thwip-thwip and a call to the police.

“Hey, you okay?”

The first girl (pretty, with glossy puppy dog eyes and pale done up hair. She didn’t look afraid. Good. He didn’t want to be scary.) nodded. She seemed a tad bit frozen but observed him with a glare.

“Kid!”

He stiffened, and the girl started, ducking around the alleyway to what he assumed was home. He’d check on her later, to make sure she got there okay.

“What do you want, Mr. Stark?” he asked, through gritted teeth.

A swish-swoosh of rocket booster switching off and little metallic clicks that meant that Mr. Stark was here, in the flesh, and Peter wasn’t allowed to run.

Great.

“Kid—are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t  _okay_. Okay was such a weird word, anyway. You can abbreviate it, as OK, but then it just looks incomplete and lonely and if there was one thing that Peter knew, it was what it felt like being incomplete and lonely. So he always gave OK a partner, ay. Okay.

They were in their fifteenth year of marriage, and had adopted two children, ‘fine’ and ‘I’m’. They were all sassy little shirts because Peter wasn’t allowed to swear but he watched The Good Place and made do like that. Michael was the best.

“Yeah, of course. Just dandy. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oh, god. Who, exactly, had allowed him to have access to the sarcasm juice? Was it Michael? Goshdarnit, he always knew there was something fishy about that guy.

“Okay, so you’re not okay.”

Peter loved his child with all of his heart, and “okay” did not deserve to be abused like that. What did Mr. Stark want, anyway? Why did he care? Peter wasn’t even a decent superhero, all he was was  _there._

There, constantly. He was surprised that more people hadn’t called him a stalker yet, because let’s face it, he kind of was. He followed New Yorkers home at night, and yeah, sure, it was just to make sure they made it home safe, but still. It was a tad bit creepy.

Only a tad, though, so it was still okay.

“What’s wrong, bud? Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. But keep in mind, if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to call either May or a therapist, maybe both. And you’ll have to talk to at least one of us.”

God, Mr. Stark. Way to trap a guy, right?

Peter sat down criss-cross applesauce on the cracked and wet ground. If he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this, then he’d at least make it as uncomfortable for Mr. Stark as humanly (spiderly?) possible.

“I’m just. I’m not having the best day, okay? Can we leave it at that?” he begged.

“No, bud, we can’t. You’re a superhero, and superheroes—we can’t afford to be trapped in our heads. People can get hurt if we’re distracted.”

Peter knew that. He knew that because that’s what he was consistently, constantly,  _worried_  about. People getting hurt, people  _dying_ —It was Uncle Ben all over again. He retracted his earlier statement, about the suggestion of guns being a problem for tomorrow-Peter. It was a problem for today Peter. One he’d have to fix, later.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he repeated. Because if he started talking about it, he’d start crying again, and he didn’t want to look or feel or  _be_ any weaker than he already was.

“Kid—“ Mr. Stark started to put a comforting hand on Peter’s shoulder, but Peter couldn’t really do the whole  _touch_ thing right now, so he leaned away. Mr. Stark blinked, wounded, and Peter knew that he should care, but right now, in the midst of all this swirling dysphoria—he just. He couldn’t bring himself to.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, Mr. Stark.” There was a note of finality in Peter’s tone, one that Mr. Stark chose to ignore.

“I know, kid, but sometimes people say one thing and mean the other, and Peter, kid, you have to talk to me.”

He didn’t have to talk to anyone, not if he didn’t want to. But he did because he was afraid of an old man breaking if he didn’t.

That didn’t mean he had to be kind about it, though.

“Okay, fine. You want me to talk? Then listen.”

Mr. Stark leaned back, shocked. Peter—Peter hadn’t ever talked to him like that before. And Peter didn’t really care anymore, because Peter was done. He was so, so  _done_.

“So we all have this mental image of ourselves, right?” Peter began, his anger rising steadily. “And maybe you’re sassy, or you’re shy, or you’re kind. And for most of the world, those mental images match up pretty strongly with the real you. Both will have the same gender, the same race, maybe with a few things different. A slightly more crooked nose, to symbolize your insensitivity to how other people feel. Or bigger shoulders, to symbolize how much of the world they carry on their shoulders.”

He took a deep breath. In, and out. In, and out. This… this wasn’t going to go well, because Peter was  _angry_ and angry Peter did not make good decisions. Especially concerning the people he loved.

Why… why had Mr. Stark pushed him? Why couldn’t he just leave good enough at good enough?

“But there was this kid, once. And biologically, they were a she. Her name was Penny, and her mental image didn’t line up at  _all_. Her mental image was a boy. And she every time she looked her real self in the mirror, she would shudder and cry and think ‘Why can’t I just be what’s in my head?’ Because the difference, Mr. Stark. The difference between her in her head and her in real life—it wasn’t just a slightly crooked nose or bigger feet. It was the hair, the parts, the shape, the voice. The difference was everything. And she grew up hating who she was and crying herself to sleep every time she looked in the mirror, until one day her aunt found out and she came out as a he and he was put on hormone blockers and testosterone and is saving up for top surgery. Because the difference was too much, Mr. Stark. And sometimes—sometimes it still is.”

Peter paused, taking a shaky breath. He was crying because of course he was. Because he was such a  _girl_ , and he hated that he was.

“Mr. Stark, my name used to be Penny. And on the days where I realize that, and I hate it— I just. I want to be alone, okay? Because every once in a while, I need to relearn how to be a boy. Because once upon a time, I wasn’t. And you weren’t supposed to know that, but now you do. Are you happy now, Mr. Stark? Does somebody in this once upon a time get a happily ever after?”

“Oh, god. Peter.”

 _Oh,_   _god_  was right.

After all, why hadn’t God just made him a boy?

He swung away and left Mr. Stark to regret asking him about anything, ever.

He hadn’t been ready.

He had been pushed.


End file.
